


At Day's End

by Liz Kenobi (Amidala_Thrace)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amidala_Thrace/pseuds/Liz%20Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thinks of his public persona, his staid, rule-abiding façade, his image as the ultimate Jedi, and she loves being able to make him fly apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Day's End

**Author's Note:**

> A little harmless PWP (Porn Without Plot) featuring one of my Star Wars OTPs. Takes place in the middle of _Revenge of the Sith_ within the universe of my SW multichapter AU, To Ignite the Stars (though you _don't_ need to have read TIS in order to understand this - just know that Anakin and Padmé never married, and she is in a relationship with Obi-Wan). Originally posted December 27, 2008.

She has waited for him all day.

Padmé is almost disgusted with herself; never did she think she'd stoop to pacing the apartment, glancing impatiently at her chrono every few moments, _willing_ the numbers to move faster. They do not, of course, and she grits out a frustrated sigh, snapping at her protocol droid who has asked for the tenth time if she would like a snack.

She wants Obi-Wan home. Needs him home. _Now_.

Several times her fingers venture to her breasts, cupping them under the material of her light dress, caressing the nipples into stiff peaks. Padmé nearly slumps against the wall at the pleasure rocketing through her nervous system, at the skin crying out to be touched … but she is not willing to settle for such a hollow, empty fulfillment. She needs _him_, more than she has ever needed him before, to kiss her and touch her and massage her and guide his flesh inside, rocking them both to climax, crying out as their lips crash together. She is breathless at these thoughts, almost able to imagine him there in person … almost, but not quite.

Padmé checks the pregnancy holobook saved to her datapad, the source of information that is guiding her through this adventure. Yes, an increased sexual appetite is quite common in human pregnancies, particularly if the woman is carrying twins. No, there is little that can be done unless she is willing to enlist the "services" of her partner, or the assistance of her left hand.

She contemplates throwing the datapad to the floor in disgust, but before she can, her comlink jangles. Should she hope it's Obi-Wan? It would be wonderful even to see his face, to hear that clipped Coruscanti accent, but the fact remains that if he is calling, it's most likely to say he'll be late, and that's the last thing Padmé wants at the moment.

In the end she doesn't have to worry. The caller is Bail Organa.

With enormous effort Padmé clamps her practiced politician's persona in place, settling in for a discussion about the next meeting of the Delegation of the Two Thousand and the fact that Palpatine has most likely simply invented yet another emergency to close the Senate for the day, thereby postponing voting on a bill Bail recently proposed until the Chancellor can gather enough of his toadies to ensure it does not pass. The conversation distracts her for a few minutes until the talk turns to their personal lives, at which point she has to keep from leering suggestively every time Obi-Wan's name is mentioned.

Her comlink chimes for a second time and Padmé interrupts Bail to answer it, again hoping for Obi-Wan but not feeling terribly disappointed when Captain Typho appears instead. She especially doesn't mind when she hears that Obi-Wan himself has just arrived, and that Typho told him to come up.

Padmé quickly pulls an excuse out of the air and terminates her conversation with Bail, stuffing the comlink inside her dress pocket as she races for the door, her breath coming in frantic gasps. She can _feel_ the anticipation spreading through her, every nerve in her body tingling, her arms aching to hold him.

She listens as fingers punch the entry key outside, millennia between each beep, the door sliding open inch by torturous inch. His boots appear, striding through the doorway, and then his arms, and then he opens his mouth to call her name, his lips forming the word …

And Padmé is upon him, her hands grabbing his shoulders, her lips pressing his in a series of frantic kisses. He is resistant at first, purely out of surprise, and then he begins to respond, his mouth opening under hers, their tongues mingling as his beard prickles at her skin. She can feel where they are touching, the curve of her abdomen against him, her palms against his back, his fingers tangled in her hair.

They kiss until both are out of breath, and Obi-Wan pulls back, his eyes bright with arousal. "That was quite a hello," he whispers huskily.

"I've been waiting for you all day," Padmé says, stroking his cheek, massaging his chest, reaching downwards to cup him through his light tunic pants. His breath hitches, and she smiles pleasantly.

"You — have?" The last word comes out in a gasp, and is less a question than a confirmation of consent, but still she pauses, realizing that she needs to inject a modicum of calm into this encounter.

"It's the pregnancy … it makes me … want this, sometimes," she hastily explains, aware that she is unabashedly staring at him, at his lithe, perfect form. "I'm sorry if I — well, startled you."

"It's all right, darling." His hand comes up and he runs his fingers lightly over her skin, smiling as she leans into the touch. "You just surprised me, that's all."

"I'm sure I did." Padmé lifts up on her toes to kiss him again, and he responds immediately and with much more fervor this time, seeming almost as desperate as she is. The heat is rising within her, stoked by his presence, his scent, the warm weight of him in her arms.

Then, just as abruptly, she presses Obi-Wan against the wall and drops to her knees, fumbling to release his length from the tunics, cursing the fact that they must exist in the first place, wondering if they were meant to prevent precisely this sort of activity. But he is finally freed, and without further pretense she guides him into her mouth. He's just beginning to harden, but that process is greatly accelerated by her gentle ministrations and before long they are both gasping with need.

Padmé hollows her cheeks as much as she can, looking not at her current preoccupation but at him, at his face, at his eyes squeezed shut. His fingers are in her hair, twisting themselves around the soft curls, and though she knows he's trying to maintain control, trying to stop himself from thrusting, the battle is being lost. His hips jerk once, and again, and she can taste on her tongue the liquid that is the precursor to his climax.

She thinks of his public persona, his staid, rule-abiding façade, his image as the ultimate Jedi, and she loves being able to make him fly apart.

As if he has read her thoughts, a moan escapes Obi-Wan and he gasps, almost groans, at the sensations coursing through him. "P-Please—I need … going to … _please_, darling …"

Heat flashes through her at the endearment, at his begging, and she smiles, lips contracting around his hardness. "Soon," she whispers lasciviously.

One more lick, from base to tip, and Padmé lets him fall from her lips as she rises again and meets his confused gaze with another grin, her dress and undergarments landing at their feet. And then … then what she has waited for all day, what she has wanted, what she _needs_ … she grasps his cock and swiftly guides him to her centre.

The _feel_ of him … she is nearly overwhelmed, and for a moment it's enough just to be standing there like that, letting him fill her, the culmination of her desires. But this time it is Obi-Wan who wants more, and he places both hands on her buttocks and lifts her, penetrating more deeply, drawing long groans from each partner. Padmé wraps her legs around him as he spins, this time pressing _her_ into the wall, and he seems content to do all the work so she simply holds on, holds on and kisses him.

Her eyes slide closed as she loses herself in sensation and he begins thrusting in earnest. They are both close; he by virtue of earlier stimulation and she because she is always close, always ready, always wanting this. Obi-Wan's breath hitches and he buries his face in her chest, pausing briefly to lave at her hardened nipples. "I can't — hold on — much longer …" he grits out, and she knows it is only his vaunted control preventing a climax now.

Seconds later, however, that's of little consequence. With a cry Padmé clenches, riding waves of pleasure, sensation bursting behind her eyeballs. She can't ever remember this feeling so mind-blowingly _good_, and it almost makes the long day of waiting worthwhile.

Almost.

He arrives moments later, pouring himself inside her with a shout, only just managing to keep them both upright as they gasp with pleasure. She squeezes her legs together, expanding and contracting, milking him for the last of his seed. For several moments they are still, breath coming hard and fast, foreheads pressed together. Finally Obi-Wan licks his lips, bending for a kiss as he lowers her gently to the floor.

"That," he says, "was …"

"Worth waiting for?" Padmé suggests. "It was for me."

"Yes, and many other things." Obi-Wan's eyes are bright with excitement. "Call it an introduction."

"An introduction?" She giggles.

"To tonight's activities."

His breath tickles her ear, and Padmé laughs as they begin to kiss again.


End file.
